‘CAN YOU STOP P*SSING ON MY SHOES!?'
As a metaphor for what happened in today’s game, you can’t beat being p*ssed on by some old bloke in the toilets after the match. There I was, minding my own business, concentrating on business in hand, when I could feel the reverberations on my trainers. It was like a cat purring, but altogether less pleasant. I had to have words in no uncertain terms and the old goat looked dumbfounded. Perhaps he was just trying to avoid hitting the walking stick he’d leant against the urinal. Cheers.
Course, my mood wasn’t brightened by a mix of poor performance and alcohol. The 20-match unbeaten record was gone, and for all the BFC ‘pressure’ both managers spoke of after the match, I couldn’t remember a chance we’d created. Even the goal we scored has to go down as an assist from the ref, as no-one in the ground knew where he’d got a penalty from to give us some hope at 2-1 with a few minutes left. Indeed, rumour in the pub was it was for a mystery handball. (Apparently it was for a mystery high foot.)
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| Welcome to .... |
As a metaphor for what happened in today’s game, you can’t beat being p*ssed on by some old bloke in the toilets after the match. There I was, minding my own business, concentrating on business in hand, when I could feel the reverberations on my trainers. It was like a cat purring, but altogether less pleasant. I had to have words in no uncertain terms and the old goat looked dumbfounded. Perhaps he was just trying to avoid hitting the walking stick he’d leant against the urinal. Cheers.
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| It all started well. |
Course, my mood wasn’t brightened by a mix of poor performance and alcohol. The 20-match unbeaten record was gone, and for all the BFC ‘pressure’ both managers spoke of after the match, I couldn’t remember a chance we’d created. Even the goal we scored has to go down as an assist from the ref, as no-one in the ground knew where he’d got a penalty from to give us some hope at 2-1 with a few minutes left. Indeed, rumour in the pub was it was for a mystery handball. (Apparently it was for a mystery high foot.)
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| The teams meet 'n' greet. |
We’d never been in the match, conceding after about 5 mins, with Davies parrying a soft shot straight into the path of their striker, for a tap-in. Then…nothing. Nothing I can remember. A couple of their fans in the pub said they were expecting an onslaught after half-time, as we were. Instead, nothing. Zilch. Sweet FA. My memory is hazy (see earlier; ‘beer’) but aside from a few runs by Cavare, nobody showed in attack. How many games is it since Thiam played well? Or scored? The Enigma (Bahre) was thrown on to no avail, while rumour has it Green wasn’t even in the squad after some kind of bust-up with Stendel. That’ll help at this stage of the season.
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| The view from behind the goal. |
So, with us camped in their half doing nothing, they broke twice to make it 2-0 and 3-1, swift counter-attacking moves the like of which we’re used to doing ourselves. Oh well. Fair play, Burton – you deserved it. And as for the extra-time of the Checkatrade Trophy tiring Sunderland, they’ve won 3 out of 3, including a midweek match and a last minute winner yesterday. Portsmouth meantime have won 4 on the spin. We have lost momentum at exactly the wrong time. Play-offs here we come!
Onwards and upwards!
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| Reds fans in the seats. |
*** No-one. Most of the team were dreadful.
** No-one. Most? All but one.
* Cavare. Had a few bursts but nowhere to be seen on their goals.
Londontykes' MOTM: 1= Cavare / No-one 3. Mowatt
The view of the penalty...
The view of the penalty...
Despatches:
As it’s not worth talking about the players, let’s rave about an away day in Burton. Despite having to spend 20 nondescript minutes changing trains at Tamworth, it’s a tremendous away day, full of copious amounts of drinking in two of the best matchday pubs you can have – The Last Heretic and Cooper’s Tavern, serving ales straight from the (wooden) barrel. One good thing about staying down is we can do all this again next season!
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| The away end. |
Drink du jour: Ale. Of all descriptions. And massive bottes of Hoegaarden for the train back. You Reds!!!!
Away: 1,751 (sold out).
The Damage:
£18 ent
£26 train
= £44
Prog? None to be seen between getting out of a cab at the away end and entering the away end. Their loss.
The Tunes:
Loveless (My Bloody Valentine)
Jake Bugg (Jake Bugg)
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| Pirelli Stadium panorama |
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| The Burton terrace |
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| Nigel Clough, King of Caravans. |
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| Half-time cheerleaders. |
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| The view from the snack shack. |
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